The Legend of Wanheda
by Scribble01
Summary: Throughout the two years Clarke has been gone, she has more than the body count of Mount Weather to add to her name 'Wanheda'. She's made enemies of four clans, the biggest being Azgeda. When Clarke stumbles upon a plot to start a war that would devastate the world as they knew it, she knows it's time to go home. But how different is life going to be now that she's returned? Clexa.
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

He was a warrior. He was a general. He did not fear death. He was not afraid to die, for the sake of his clan. For his _kwin_. He did not give up fighting, even in the face of agony and torture.

He did not _cry._

So why, in the face of such a small girl, did he feel the need to start now? How is it that he forgot his training? Forgot where his loyalties lie when the sight of the sky-girl entered his vision? He was _Azgeda_, a general of the _Az Kwin's_ army. He did not-

A gasp ripped from his lips as the _Wanheda_ entered the tent and he was reminded. Reminded that this wasn't a mere sky-girl like Ice Queen Nia would have her people believe. She was one of the two Legends the Sky had borne. The Blake Childe, Octavia - _Skairipa _\- had become her own Legend from both within the bounds of Arkadia, taking in contenders for over a year; a fighter that has not fallen.

_Wanheda_ was a different story. While _Skairipa_ has won in the ring, taking the lives of every opponent who dared face her in the _Skaikru's_ Gladiator _gonplei_, _Wanheda_ had become more than just 'The Woman Who Felled The Mountain'. So much more. More than a warrior or a healer or a leader or an assassin. She had filled her name as the Commander of Death.

She had slaughtered whole armies and villages. Had gone into the heart of _Azgeda_ and assassinated the _Az Kwin's_ weapon Ontari and left a trail of bodies on her way past the borders. She had stained the ground of entire fields with blood and ash. Had gone into villages and turned them into armies of tremendous skill to take down their oppressors. _Azgeda_ wasn't the only clan that _Klark kom Skaikru_ had her eyes set on to burn. No, she had upturned at least three others and caused enough mayhem and strife to become hunted by any bounty hunter or warrior who wished for death, at any rate.

Right then, he could see why. And he did not wish to.

Blood matted her entire body. Her golden mane, cut to the middle of her neck, was slicked with blood and dirt, her clothes cut up and blooded. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he knew that whatever he expected was surpassed with just this sight. Her skin, though stained red with blood, was a pale tan not known to most of the Clans. It near matched the skin of his people. She was wearing black leather pants that filled with her flesh, old boots he knew were from the Sky People, and a stiff jacket without arms that opened in the middle, revealing a taut and scarred stomach and a hint of breast hidden behind a brown half shirt that barely passed her womanly bust. On her hip was one of the _Maunen's_ weapons. 'Pistol', he believed it was called. On the other hip were two skulls were without backs, both clean and pure white, as if in they were set in the sun for weeks on end. The first skull was that of a beast, large and intimidating. The second was human, hollow and haunting. Strapped to her back were two swords, blood still dripping off the sharp tips. She was the picture of death and destruction.

"You know who I am," _Wanheda_ acknowledged as she saw him take her in. She took him in as well, hands tied behind his back and legs tied to the chair he couldn't leave. Cuts littered his body and he could feel a large bruise blooming on the side of his head, large and daunting. One of his general scars he'd gotten months ago had reopened, blood trickling but already scabbing. He could feel it.

"The Commander of Death," he replied, unconsciously leaning away from her as she walked forward. She kneeled down, making him want to get away or avert his eyes. Her gaze were as the stories told; as blue as the sky but as hard as the ground. _Wanheda_ cracked her bloodied and scarred hands, twisting them until they cracked no more. Each crack sent a ripple of nervousness- almost fear- through his spine.

He did his best to straighten his back and harden his heart against whatever torture the Legend would use against him. But she did nothing. _Wanheda_ continued to stare at him; to watch him with those old eyes he swore had seen everything. And then she turned and walked away to a bucket he hadn't noticed.

_Wanheda_ pulled out a wet rag and twisted it in her hands, wringing out the into the bucket. A wince of pain crossed her features as she shrugged her jacket from her shoulders, revealing toned skin and pale scars. The half shirt she wore barely hung onto her frame by two thin straps. He couldn't help but notice that wherever she hid, she was eating well if her strong body said anything about her. On her lower back to the right, written in black ink of the _Trikru_ were words in _gonasleng_. As both general and ambassador, he had been taught to both read and write in the language of warriors. Without trying to make it seem obvious, he narrowed his eyes to read the bloody words.

_Clarke_

_Prisoner 319_

_Princess_

_Klark_

_Wanheda_

The words were written in a column, bold and black on her skin. Names. Titles. What she was called. He knew her name was _Klark_ or Clarke in _gonasleng_. And he'd heard a rumor of the first of the Sky being traitors to their peoples' laws. He'd heard from rumors and stories that those considered children were locked away while the adults were executed. And then a 100 child prisoners were sent from the Sky to die.

'_They were true,'_ he realized with slightly widened eyes. He wasn't sure what the title below 319 meant, but he was sure it was an emotionally investing if she permanently marked it to her skin. _Klark_ was how they wrote her name in their own language. Unsure of what it meant, he moved on to the next: _Wanheda_. The Commander of Death. It was a name that all twelve clans feared but only four have felt her wrath. It was one of the reasons he was there, sent with an army of a hundred warriors to capture the Mountain from Wanheda's hands and bring her to the _Az Kwin_ if he could.

_Wanheda_ had taken out four tents before any one of his warriors knew she was among them. It was chance, from what he could tell, that one of them could sound the horn before being put down like caged animals. After that, the slaughter of his people began.

He blinked when _Wanheda _started cleaning herself in front of him, wiping the dirt and blood off onto the rag and then washed the fabric out with the water in the bucket. It was also then he noticed a pair of scars, one line on her back and a longer, matching one that split the button of her stomach in half.

'_She shouldn't have survived that,'_ he thought absently, giving in to the the Legend and rumor that surrounded the _Wanheda_. One in particular: _Klark kom Skaikru_ could not die. He believed it now, as he watches the healed scar becomes visible with each swatch of dirt and blood that was removed. Even the power to slaughter armies pales in comparison to immortality. Especially in the eyes of a warrior or his _Kwin_. To bypass Death, the one spirit that came to every person without fail, would be a power even the Commander could not hope to match.

If he could only get capture _Wanheda_…

She rubbed the rag across her neck, the dirt giving way to more marked skin on both sides of her throat. Around the front was a thin scar, stretching from one side of her throat to the other. On the left side of her neck was another _tat_. This one was small, the size of his palm, possibly. Three ovals pointed three different ways and banded together at one end, cut by a circle in the middle. _Wanheda's _known symbol, 'Etsy', he believed it was called.

"Why are you here?" _Wanheda_ asked him, still wiping her body and rinsing the rag of dirt and blood in the bucket.

He didn't answer, tilting his up defiantly. He would not be intimidated into answering. He would stay by his _Kwin_. He would not give her-

There wasn't any time to gasp as she was suddenly in front of him, throwing the rag flat on his face, tipped his chair back, and then started to pour the bucket of dirty water onto him. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning on land, tied to a chair with no way to draw breath. His lungs were on fire, desperate for the air he couldn't live without.

The rag was ripped off and the hand he hadn't noticed holding his head back by his long hair. He held his head down as water burst from his lips and nose, desperately trying to take in any air that he could get. The only sound in the tent was his heavy breathing, huffing exhausted breaths. When he could breathe without his lungs burning, he looked to _Wanheda_, his eyes wide in a way he couldn't help. She'd just drowned him on land, something that seemed so simple yet hadn't been used by _Azgeda_ even once. He'd had tortured hundreds of enemies to the crown, traitors or informants or warriors of other clans, and he'd never used anything like she'd just did. Death was on his heels, following him as he drowned in air. And _Wanheda_ had commanded him to leave.

It shook him, more than he ever wanted to admit. To himself or his _Kwin_.

"Why did Nia send an army here?" _Wanheda_ asked. He didn't want to answer, and it showed on his face. The Commander of Death only sighed, pulled her gun from the strap at her waist, and pulled the trigger.

The General's body hit the floor with a thud as the chair tipped back. Blood splattered on her face again and with a tired, exhausted sigh, she wiped the rag across her cheek. It was a shame, he didn't want to talk. She would have probably gotten more information out of him than she did his second. He was Nia's general after all. But she got enough information to know that Nia and the other clans were planning an all-out war.

It was a resigned breath that followed a thought she hoped she'd never have to voice: "I have to go home."

After two years and scores of bodies, she was going back to Arkadia.

Maybe she could put it off...


	2. Chapter One

Before you read:

Trigedasleng is in italics. If a quote ( "" ) is in italics and followed by English, then the characters are speaking in Trigedasleng. If a Trigedakru word is not in italics, its because it doesn't need translation. For speakers of both languages, English will be normal while Trigedasleng are going to be in italics.

'_Thoughts'_

"_**Wanheda thinking in Trigedasleng"**_

"_Talking in Trigedasleng even though you're reading English"_

"Just normal English"

Thanks for being patient. Onto the story.

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

"_**We should have killed them all!"**_ _Wanheda's _voice roared through Clarke's head. The blonde would have flinched if she wasn't so used to it. But a year and a half of a voice in her head had taught her how to conceal reactions and expect _Wanheda's_ rants. _Wanheda_ spoke in _Trigedasleng_, though after two years, Clarke had become fluent in the language.

Clarke had wanted to revel in the feel of the cool wind on her bare skin as she leaned on a balcony railing of a second story house set in the middle of a village that had graciously taken her in for the last few days.

'_I didn't need to,'_ Clarke thought, somehow directing her thoughts to the bloodlusted part of her that she used to commit slaughters of whole armies. '_He didn't know anything useful and now that Nia's plans are out in the open, she'll need new ones - which take time, as you might recall.'_

"_**Do not mock me, Klark Grifin,"**_ _Wanheda _ snarled. "_**You know as well as I do that he will die a slow and painful death that Nia herself will inflict since he is returning with bad news. Killing him would have been a service."**_

'Karechas _would have _spoken _to you if she had any objections of my methods,' _Clarke thought acidly. It was a joke, Clarke deemed, that her personality disorder would believe in the Grounders' Gods. In the Goddess of Death, _Karechas_, who put faith into her servant, General, and daughter, _Wanheda_ to direct death over the Earth.

Clarke wondered when exactly she went crazy, but had to just shrug off the useless enquiry in the end. Her head and everything in it has been fucked over since she died. And even before that, guilt over her first and only genocide so far had caused her heart and soul to shrivel up on itself. By the end of the Mountain, Clarke estimated she'd killed around nine hundred and fifty odd people.

Now, that number seemed insignificant.

'_Enough, Wanheda,'_ Clarke demanded. '_Stop talking. What's done is done and I _know _you don't care about some Second we don't even know the name of. It's better we focus on what we're going to do about the upcoming war.'_

"_**Death is Peace, Clarke," **__Wanheda_ spoke quietly, ignoring Clarke's last remark. "_**We've discussed this into the depths of the earth and yet you only wish to focus on the life left behind. Life is Pain. Death is Peace. To punish those still part of this world is unnecessary and cruel. **_**Karechas** _**knows this and so do her sisters."**_

'_Enough with the mystical bullshit!' _Clarke couldn't help but snarl. She'd had enough of her head spouting shit about the Gods and their Angel children. She was raised in a fucking space station, with a medical mother and an engineer for a father, and sent to a radiation soaked planet only to commit mass murder multiple times and genocide. At this point, even if she had been raised to believe in God like most of the Old World's Christianity, she'd be convinced he left the fucking building with a suitcase and a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

The mere thought of arguing with the aspect of her that relished in killing - and the anticipation of the possibility of murdering anybody Clarke comes in contact with - about the metaphysical and philosophical was baffling and maddening. Of course her personal serial killer would be religious.

Whatever _Wanheda_ was about to say was cut off as Clarke was suddenly thrown back into the real world when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist. They were thin and feminine but as strong as the wiry muscles suggested. Turning her head slightly revealed concerned brown eyes that watched her carefully, warily. Something completely different than just a few hours ago.

"_Wanheda?"_ She questioned softly. "_Your anger shows. Are you okay?"_

"Sha," Clarke reassured her. "_My mind focuses on other things than sleep tonight. I have come to the decision that I should leave at first light. I have many things to do before I go back to _Skaikru_."_

"_There are few hours before dawn,"_ another voice said. It was male and his voice curled around her other ear as his calloused hand gently traced the panther scars she'd received before she slept with Niylah. "_Perhaps we may help clear your mind once more before you go?"_

Clarke turned in the woman's embrace, her nude front brushing against the woman's own naked skin. The blonde mass murderer ran her hand up and down the woman's side, watching as the tension left her body and a smile slowly spread across her aged but beautiful face. Clarke eyed the man to the side, watching as his body responded to watching his _houmon_ with _Wanheda_, and reached over to grab him.

"_You cannot share your heart with us,"_ the Chieftess softly said, so only she and Clarke heard. "_It belongs to another."_

Clarke paused her ministrations for a short moment before continuing. "_No,"_ she replied as softly as the woman in front of her did. "_But its pieces do."_ A smirk came to Clarke's lips as she brushed them against the shell of the Chieftess' ear and pulled on it with her teeth. "_And I see no problem with sharing my body to those I wish."_

Without another word, Clarke fastened her hand to the woman's ass cheek and started walking back into the still mussed bed. The Chief followed obediently, Clarke's hand still wrapped around his leash. As the three fell into bed once again, Clarke's mind once again flashed to the army she had killed a day ago, upcoming war between the clans, and her return to Arkadia - as she learned it was now called.

She absently wondered what they were doing at the moment before she'd felt her bedmates' touches and every thought she might have had about the future or the Sky People were scattered in the face of mind numbing pleasure.

* * *

**Meanwhile in Arkadia**

Octavia Blake stood glaring at her opponent. Her mouth, vision, and hands were smeared with blood but she wasn't half as bad as the man across from her. Lincoln was nearly unrecognizable under the blood and bruises, but he still stood strong against the woman he loved.

It was years in the making, really. Octavia knew this. For two years, she'd yearned to be back in the woods, at Indra's beck and call, and learning the ways of the ground. And for two years she'd watched Lincoln turn his back on the teachings that had made her free and independant to become a Guard. She'd watched as Lincoln, the man she loved and had given herself to, forsake the things she'd cherished about the ground.

While she wanted to be in the woods, Lincoln was content with being trapped in a metal hull. While Octavia practiced with her sword every day at dawn, he slept late and kept a gun on his hip holster. While Octavia yearned to learn more _Trigedasleng _and about _Trigedakru_ culture, her love had spoken English and absorbed the Ark's teachings like a doctrine.

It was a testament to her patience that she hadn't snapped like this before. A testament to her love for him that she hadn't dragged him into her ring and beat him half to death the moment she found he'd left his sword behind in their room. The sword that had been given to him as a gift from his parents when he became a warrior and had never left his side by choice.

But two years into their banishment from the _Trigedakru_ and she'd finally done it. She'd taken him into her ring and beat him. He wasn't impartial to fighting her, nor she him. Maybe now, that she had beaten him, he'd see what was wrong with the way he was acting. They were _Trikru_, why couldn't he see that?

The crowd around them were still cheering. The pride and praise rushed to her head and burned the blood in her veins. Though most of the crowd were from Arkadia, there were some of those who were Grounders. They stared at her in awe and Octavia knew her Legend was going to grow with Lincoln's defeat.

The ring was more of a pit dug outside of Arkadia's confining borders. It was at least forty feet wide and just as deep. The dirt was compact and the edges of the pit were reinforced with metal to make sure anyone standing on the edge didn't loosen the dirt or fall in. At each side of the arena were misshapen stairs blocked by swinging half gates that latched.

It wasn't a formal arena by any means but it gave Octavia a chance to unleash the anger she'd felt since Indra had stripped her title as Second and _Heda_ had banished her back to Arkadia.

The torches were stationed just so there was enough light for both combatants to see at night but now dawn was making its way past the horizon. One of Octavia's eyes were seeing red, but it was a sure sign that she wasn't blind. If she was seeing black, then she had the right to be worried. Now though, her anger was making her stand up straight as she did her best to glare at Lincoln through her cuts and bruises.

The dirt of the pit had been hardened and painted with blood. Hand-to-hand combat, swords, knives, all of it, had been introduced to the hole in the ground. Octavia had killed a lot of people who wished Arkadia harm in this arena. And she's always won.

The idea of the Pit happened as a spur of the moment decision on Octavia's part. Before Arkadia became the 13th Clan, a lot of people had wanted to see them Clarke to kill people and talk peace for them, Marcus and Abby were trying their best to rebuild an alliance between Lexa and the other clans, but it seemed to go nowhere. After an argument broke out and Abby called Lexa's protective blockade into question, _Heda_ ordered the blockade that kept Arkadia safe to be disbanded and return to Polis. They were on their own. So when a small army of a couple dozen marched to their borders, Octavia had come out the front gates and demanded that the army's best warrior fight her in one-on-one combat to the death. If she won, they left. If they won, well, they could put her head on a pike and deliver it to Indra to show the general she was right to get rid of her.

Octavia won.

And then she fought another warrior. And another. She fought four more after that until the opposing army was forced to honor their deal and leave peacefully, though she made them surrender some of their supplies afterwards. As they left, Octavia painfully and gleefully called out that she would love if they tried again at her Gladiator fights. It was a gamble, but one that paid off.

Her fights were spoken highly about. Arkadia was a place where different clans would settle their differences on trade agreements or between to families. Most would test their metal against _Skairipa_ and leave with enough broken bones and bruises to last a lifetime. There were those, however, that would face her to the death and she dispatched them mercilessly.

Betting was an important part of the Pit, making Arkadia rich and Octavia one of their richest, though she gave most of her winnings to Arkadia to be distributed. Abby had tried to stop the fighting in the beginning but Octavia and Marcus had managed to convince her to keep them. They were an integral part of life now, and they depended on it for things like furs, cloths, and food.

The Pits were popular enough that they bolstered Octavia's own fame and fighting prowess. Octavia became one of the Legends from the Sky, _Skairipa._ Death From Above. She was adhered as a Legend, and it felt good. It would only feel greater if Indra had bothered to see her fight in the last two years.

It took two more hits to put Lincoln down and have him stay there. Octavia had taken one in the chest but it hardly slowed her down as she jumped up and slammed her fist down into his temple. The first rays of dawn broke the horizon as Octavia simply turned her back and left him there in the dirt, set on getting some sleep before her inevitable argument with Lincoln.

It was as she was heading into Arkadia that she spotted something unusual. Several guards and grounders were whispering together, then looked out the gate with expressions of concern. What drew their ire were columns of smoke, all in a cluster. Thinking that the smoke was odd too, as it was coming from Mount Weather, Octavia decided to join the conversation.

"What's going on?" She asked. Her ribs hurt and she really needed to get cleaned up but she figured that and sleep could wait for a few minutes while she investigated. She could tell that she made the guards and warriors uneasy with her appearance but they didn't try to ignore her. It was the one good thing that becoming a Legend had done. She was no longer treated like a child who couldn't make any decisions. She was part of the Council now as well.

The warriors looked around carefully before leaning down and speaking in soft _Trigedasleng._ "_A small army of Azgeda soldiers set up camp on the Mountain side of the river."_

Octavia nearly jerked back in shock before hissing back. "_What are you whispering about it for then? We should tell Abby and the Council!"_

"_There is nothing to tell,"_ the warrior said quietly. "_When we got there the camp was in ruins and the only survivor was dead this morning fifteen miles from the site. Wanheda destroyed everything."_

At the name _Wanheda,_ Octavia was sure she froze. The mention of the other Legend took her mind to memories, thoughts, and emotions she wasn't sure she'd ever get passed. The betrayal she felt when she learned of Clarke leaving was still as fresh as the day it was made. Anger over TonDC ripened and turned into a quiet rage that fueled her bones with fire whenever she thought of it. Bellamy was broken up when Clarke had left and he worried over her the entire winter. Abby, Raven, Marcus, Monty, Harper, Monroe, Lincoln, and, Hell, even herself, had worried and agonized over whether Clarke was still alive.

And then there had come the rumors and stories when spring came and people started to travel more. They spoke of _Wanheda_, the girl of nightmares who tore down entire villages when they tried to take her. They spoke of how they found the Prince of the Ice Nation floating in a river with his throat slit after being sent by _Heda_ to capture Clarke. The Legend Clarke produced nearly outmatched _Az Kwin Nia's_ and _Heda's _own. Octavia knew with a large amount of jealousy that Clarke's legend outweighed her own by a landslide.

The rest of the hundred and those who knew Clarke were relieved that she was alive. At least until they learned what she was doing. More and more stories started pouring in. It seemed that as every week passed, Clarke committed more and more massacres. Entire villages were slaughtered and armies were wiped out. The stories came from everywhere and from almost every clan. Murders and assassinations. It seemed that even when Clarke wasn't fighting for the peace of her people, she was still killing people by the droves.

And then came the stories that no one in Arkadia would believe. Survivors tell of Clarke being struck down only to get back up again from a wound that was supposed to mortally wound her. A rumor spread like wildfire: _Klark kom Skaikru_ could not die. And it scared the shit out of Octavia. Nearly as much as the idea that the Clarke she knew could kill whole armies by herself.

"_How many?"_ Octavia asked. She looked between the two warriors only to see confusion on their faces. "_How many has she killed now?"_

Again, they looked towards each other and then the guards they had been previously talking to. The guards were only slightly confused, though Octavia could tell they were two of the small portion of Arkadia who were learning to speak _Trigedasleng_.

"_There were at least four dozen in the dirt."_

Octavia was already running before she realized what the warrior's words meant. Without waiting, Octavia barged into the Council room and immediately headed to the speaker they'd installed.

"Attention," Octavia said into the mic, hearing the hallways of the Ark echo with her voice. "Meeting in the Council Room. Could Abby, Marcus, Monty, Harper, Bellamy, and Monroe come to the Council Room? Now."

Octavia threw the mic back onto the table and scrambled around for the spare medical kit they kept in case of emergencies. Inside is a small mirror, gauze made of strips of cloth, some of Monty's moonshine, sutures, and wet cloth. Taking the mirror and cloth out, Octavia carefully drags the cloth across her blood stained face to clean it.

Two years had taken their toll on Octavia though she was still as beautiful as ever. She still kept her hair the same after two years, though the back was shorter. Her sides were still braided tightly back and her warpaint was smeared around her eyes and covered in blood. There were some times when Octavia wondered whether it was worth it to wear black paint instead of red.

A though for another time because right then, Octavia didn't care. So many thoughts were going through her head at a hundred million miles per hour. Clarke slaughtered an army on Mountain land. Land that were less than a days walk from both Arkadia and TonDC. Clarke was so close. She has never been that close. And it scared Octavia despite the excitement and anger that caught up with her thoughts.

Octavia wasn't sure if she could ever forgive Clarke for TonDC or leaving them after Mount Weather. But there was a small part of her hiding behind her anger and betrayal that hoped against hope that, maybe, finally, Clarke was coming home.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

* * *

"_From the rubble, what do I see?_

_There's a whole damn army thinkin' that they're gonna harm me_

_Say goodnight, I'll never get free_

_Oh, I got troubles that won't let me be_

_But I won't get tired, set the town on fire_

_'Till my troubles got trouble with me_

"_Thinkin' that they've won_

_It's only just begun_

"_When I go into that ground_

_I won't go quietly, I'm bringin' my crown_

_And when I go into that ground_

_Oh, they gotta bury me, bury me face down"_

"_Bury Me Face Down"_

_Grandson_

* * *

Sitting in a large branching tree, her stature casual and comfortable, one leg hung off the thick branch she used as a seat and the other bent so she could rest her arm on her knee. She had forgone her jacket and put on another half-shirt for the hotter days, exposing her ink and skin to the air. She had her leather pants on though, not willing to leave her legs uncovered against the ground, and her mud and blood stained boots were tied tight. Her quiver full of arrows hung from a chain attached to her right hip, and her pistol was in a Grounder-made shoulder holster on her left side.

Her hanging leg swung as if she was a little girl again on the Observation Deck of the Ark, occasionally brushing against a large black duffle bag that had been settled onto a lower branch but still well within her reach if she just leaned down, open and waiting with her pick of weapons like a bag of goodies at a birthday party. She glanced at the military DAN .338 bolt-action sniper she took from Mt. Weather's armory, already cocked for her leisure, sitting next to several knives made from metal, bones, and animal claws, a Stoner 63 U.S issue assault rifle, a couple of extra mags for both rifles and the pistol, a gun cleaning kit, a medical kit, a couple changes of clothes, one or two training swords, and several more serrated short swords that she had tested personally.

In her hand was a whetstone that she used to quietly sharpen one of her blades she usually kept on her back.

It was a beautiful blade in her opinion. Hell, it was a fact. Beautiful and deadly. The blade edge was serrated and led down until it gave to a sharp hook inwards until it caved back into a normal blade into the pommel. The pommel was leather-wrapped, worn and torn from its use though it was only a year old. The leather was darker stained; so much blood had been left on it after Clarke's earlier battles, it was practically bathed in it. At the end of the pommel was a five inch blade that was serrated on both sides and a hole with an irregular jagged edge in the center. Clarke named it '_Hodnes Jus'_; or Love Blood, though it sounded better in _Trigedasleng._

The second blade strapped to her back wasn't the same but just as beautiful and just as deadly. She had taken it from _Azgeda's_ royal stores nearly a full week before she broke into _Az Kwin Nia's_ palace to kill Ontari. After that, she had a _Trikru_ blacksmith change it slightly. The sword was a two and a half handed pommel melded with a four foot long blade by a piece of blackened metal. The metal was twisted and shaped into a circle, her Etsy symbol being added inside. The blade was black and pommel were black, the blade straight edged with square-like holes and serrations around the base. This sword, she named '_Az Tombom'_; or Ice Heart.

Absently, Clarke ran her thumb of the hand that held the pommel of _Hodnes Jus_ across the most prominent scar on her stomach, remembering the way her _Azgeda_ sword had pierced her flesh and stuck her to the wall of Ontari's room after a botched stab had the weapon be redirected back at her. It was a miracle she hadn't screamed and alerted the distracted guards on the other side of the Royal Palace, it hurt so much. It was a miracle she hadn't died either.

Of course, the memory of her fight with Ontari ultimately led back a year and nine months, to the first time she died. When Clarke died, she didn't go out in a bang or in a fight against all odds where she took down as many as she could. Sure, she struggled and fought but it wasn't anything 'Legendary'. It wasn't going to be told around campfires or be passed onto the next generation like she was sure the 'Fall of the Mountain' story she had heard.

She doubted she would talk about her drowning, seeing as she killed the only other person who had been there.

* * *

_Dying wasn't hard, apparently. Neither was drowning. It was just a few seconds shy of a minute held underwater for her. However, Clarke probably didn't do herself any favors trying to pull air into her lungs underneath the water line. She could remember it clearly, though she didn't like to. She could remember the burning in her lungs as they filled with water. The hand in her hair that was too tight and pulled on her locks of red and gold hair. The dark red dye that she had used to hide herself washing away and she could remember thinking that it looked like blood as the water sifted it out of her hair._

_And when she did remember, it was only on the long nights alone she was trying to figure out exactly why her brain became so fucked up. Clarke's best guess was that her brain suffered from oxygen deprivation. Didn't really explain the Wanheda personality disorder; or her messed up dreams; or her sudden skills with any weapon she touches; or how she able to fight entire armies._

_How she was alive, was also one of those unexplainable things that she yet had an answer for._

_When the bounty hunter she had met returned the favor of her trying to drown him by shoving her head underneath the river and causing her to drown, it was black nothingness that greeted her. There wasn't a god there to punish her for killing just under a thousand people in two months or to reward her for doing her best saving the people of the Ark. Just black._

_And for a little while, it was only black nothingness. Until it wasn't._

_It was a void, she realized. She could see herself but there was nothing to look at otherwise. She was wearing different clothing and her hair was braided on the top and her sides fell down in waves, reminding Clarke of Octavia and her own braided hair when she became Indra's Second. She had a sword strapped to her back in and a gun on her hip._

_Clarke inspected her clothing, noticing the odd mix of leather and metal. She wore a black leather coat that reached the back of her knees, melded pieces of metal on the shoulders. The gauntlets were something Clarke recognized, seeing as they were part of her jacket back when she was working with Lexa to fight Mount Weather. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her jeans, unsure when she last wore normal jeans. Her shirt was a dark blue with small chain links hooked to the hem._

_It didn't make her feel any safer to have weapons on her but she pulled them out anyways. Gun in her right hand and sword in her left, Clarke took a few tentative steps forward before she was suddenly blinded by light._

_Birds chirped and trees towered over her small frame, the tops disappearing into the brightest sunlight Clarke had ever seen. The ground crunched under her feet as she fully turned and tried to get her bearings. She wasn't in any woods she recognized. Clarke was tempted to call out, if only to get rid of the crushing confusion and loneliness that was enveloping her._

**"I wouldn't recommend that,"** _a voice sounded. It was a girl's voice, speaking in perfect _Trigedasleng. _Fluent, too, something that Clarke was close to being thanks to all her practices._

"Why not?" _Clarke called out in _Trigedasleng _to the direction of her disembodied voice._

**"Because I'm right here,"** _it whispered in her ear._

_Clarke immediately startled and swung the sword as she turned. The clash that followed put her balance off and she crashed to the ground. The gun in her right hand pointed up, straight at the voice._

_The voice turned out to be a teenage girl._

_The voice turned out to be Clarke._

_Clarke couldn't help but gape for a moment at the doppelganger. This Clarke was imposing and made the hair on the back of Clarke's neck stand up, even if Clarke couldn't see the pommel of a sword sticking up from a sheathe tied on her back or the dagger in her hand. The first thing she noticed was the harsh face paint that crossed her left eye. It was two white lines, the one farthest from her nose being the as thick as two fingers. Though it was the eyes that had Clarke's attention next._

_Like hers, the copy's eyes were blue but these were ethereal. They glowed and Clarke felt something inside her want to curl up at the cold stare those eyes gave her. While Clarke has been told that her own eyes were a strange sort of sky blue, she knew it had to be nothing compared to the ones she was staring at._

_(She would think later that those eyes reminded her of Lexa, certain that in the right light, those green eyes glowed the same as the Clarke Copy.)_

_The copy's hair was shorter than hers, cut to her chin and half of it dyed red. Blood splattered the front of the copy's clothes which were the same as hers. The copy didn't seem to mind it though as she put her free hand on her hip and glared at Clarke._

**"Pathetic,"** _not-Clarke judged. Though Clarke - the _real _Clarke - couldn't help the thought that it was a little unfair considering not-Clarke looked more Grounder than Indra and Clarke hadn't even had any training whatsoever._

"Who the hell are you?" _Clarke demanded as she scrambled backwards to her feet. She instinctively tightened her grip on her gun and she immediately loathed the action. Not-Clarke narrowed her eyes at her and shook her head._

"**And weak,"** _the copy added in a mutter. _"**Such a disappointment…"**

"Excuse me?!" _Clarke yelled. _"The fuck do you think you are!?"

_Anger welled up in Clarke, making her take a step forward and clench her teeth together. Only for her anger to disappear and self-hate to well up like a sponge. For a second, Clarke forgot about the insulting copy of herself and collapsed onto the ground. Tears welled up in her eyes and no matter how hard she tried, they cascaded down her cheeks._

_It made her despondent that the moment she got angry, her finger had immediately rested on the trigger of her gun and spasmed against the thin piece of metal. It made her so depressed that her first reaction was to put a gun to the copy's face and pull the trigger. To kill someone who insulted her and made her angry? Was that the point she was at now?_

_Sure, she tried to kill the bounty hunter that caught her, but that was self-defense. That was kill or be killed, and there was no way in hell that Clarke was going to be taken to Nia quietly if any of the stories about the _Azgeda Kwin _are true. But this…_

"**Get up,"** _the copy snarled. _"**You are **_**Wanheda**_**-"**

"Don't call me that!" _Clarke cut her off with her own snarl._

"**Why not?"** _Not-Clarke challenged. _"**Does the Commander of Death fear our own power?"**

_Clarke stared up at the look-alike. _"Our…-"

"**Yes, 'our',"** _the other girl snarled as she turned, throwing the dagger and unsheathing her sword. The copy gave the sword a couple swings full of nervous energy. No, not nervous. Restless. The copy was restless._

"**I am **_**Wanheda**_**,"** _the copy revealed in a grand sweep of her arms and a proud tilt in her voice, _"**the daughter of **_**Karechas**_**, peace everlasting, and the Commander of Death. You should be honored to host me!"**

_For a few moments, Clarke was silent, taking in everything that had just been said before finally whispering, _"I'm insane."

_The self-proclaimed _Wanheda _growled and slashed at a tree with her sword, cutting deep into the wood and making it bleed. Clarke couldn't tear her eyes away as she watched the cut fizzle and burn while red blood poured from the wound to the ground. A lot like the Mountain Men._

"**You allowed that fool of a bounty hunter to kill you when you clearly had the advantage." **Wanheda _growled as she paced. _"**Another weak human who can't accept death."**

_Angrily, Clarke got up again. _"I've done nothing _but_ accept death since I got to the ground, so don't you dare tell me that I don't-"

"**You have never accepted death!"** Wanheda _snarled at Clarke. Though she was intimidating, Clarke didn't move a step backward, too angry to even consider being fearful of this terrifying version of herself. _"**Do you think you would be hiding out in these woods like a coward if you accepted the death of anyone at your fingertips!"**

"I don't decide who lives and dies!"

"**Yes, we do!"** _An even larger snarl and growl than the last one accompanied this statement. _"**We are Death and we guide it to whoever we choose! Atom, Caliban, the three hundred warriors that were sent to kill **_**Skaikru**_ **\- The **_**Mounon**_**!"**

"That wasn't because I wanted to!" _Clarke tried to keep tears from welling up in her eyes again. _"I never wanted to kill all those people! There were innocent people in Mount Weather! Men, women, and children who had no business being in the middle of that war!"

"**That war was their business!" **Wanheda _yelled back. _"**Death is Peace, **_**Klark!**_ **Should you have let them live and die slowly in that mountain? Should you have saved them and forced them to be part of **_**Trikru?**_ **Life is Pain! It has always been pain. In this world, one must fight to live and live to fight!"**

"That's not fair!"

"**Whoever said that life was fair! Life has never been fair and it never will be! The only fair thing this world has to offer is death! A death for each and every person who is tired of their fight or has reached the end of their destiny!"**

_The sky had darkened, the sunlight shining through the tree trunks as its source set on the horizon. The two Clarke's had settled into walking warily around each other, as if in gauging the other before going into battle. The gun in Clarke's hand was there for her to fidget with as she cocked and uncocked the gun repeatedly with her thumb; the sword twirled in her other hand. _Wanheda _didn't fidget and she showed no emotion other than anger on her face._

_(Another similarity to Lexa, Clarke would think later.)_

"Why should I be the one to decide that!" _Clarke screamed, tears leaking from her eyes. _"Why do I get to decide who lives and who dies!'

"**Because you can! Because you have been chosen to!"** Wanheda _yelled back, though more controlled than Clarke had been._

"I don't want to be chosen!" _Clarke whispered. _"I don't want to just kill and kill for no fucking reason!"

"**There is always a reason for death!"** Wanheda _stopped, making Clarke stop as well. There was a resignation in her glowing eyes and Clarke knew that she was going to do something drastic._

"**Weak and not ready." **Wanheda _spun on her foot and started to stalk back into the woods only for her to glance back with a hard eye. _"**I leave you with a word of advice: Your death will have a reason. Whether it's because you fought down to the last man or gave up is your choice."**

_Clarke woke up gasping and throwing up water, lungs burning and on fire. The look-alike's words echoed in her head and she knew she made her choice. Before a full thirty seconds had passed from her waking up, the bounty hunter's throat was slit and his blood was pouring through into the river._

* * *

Clarke came out of her memories just as the sound of breaking twigs reached her ears. She paused sharpening her blade to glance at the mouth of a cave several yards away, her perch in the tree making it perfect for viewing without being seen, and waited to see if her target was moving.

No movement.

Clarke started sharpening her blade again, ignoring the huffing and puffing coming from the base of her tree. A sly smile appeared on her face before she quickly hid it and focussed on her sword. The small grunts got closer until they stopped, heavy breathing right next to her.

"_You went without me,"_ the nine year old girl accused. Clarke looked over at Madi, with a raised eyebrow.

"And who's fault is that?" Clarke questioned in English. Madi opened her mouth. "English, Madi." And promptly closed her mouth again.

It took a few seconds for her to open her mouth again. "M-Mine," she struggled to get out. Clarke smiled at her.

"_Good. Keep it up, Madi."_ Madi beamed in pride and Clarke had to hold in a chuckle.

Madi was a cute kid. Dark hair and pale skin with deep blue eyes. Her hair was in braids and her outfit was a mix of fur and leather. A short sword was strapped to the girl's back, though she was forbidden to remove it unless for self-defense or training.

One year ago, while Clarke was still recovering from her near-death experience with Ontari, she stumbled across a village in the middle of a raid. Nomads originally banished to the Dead Zone had decided that they were going to take back what was taken from them. Traitors, murderers, and rapists banded together in the name of chaos raiding villages and taking whatever they wanted - whether it was food, weapons… women. The village that Clarke had stumbled upon was part of the Shallow Valley clan, the group of Nomads having evaded capture from the other clans until they reached Shallow Valley.

Even hurt, most of the Nomads had cowered at the sight of her coming out of woods. Clarke hadn't given them the chance for the shock to wear off and gunned most of them down. Knives put down the rest. In the end, she had saved a young eight year old girl who had to watch as her parents were murdered in front of her. She accepted the girl as her second when Madi had pleaded with her and had been with her ever since then, staying in villages Clarke had saved - and others she threatened when Clarke thought they might reveal anything about Madi to anyone while the girl was there - when Clarke had to go out or hunt down a few armies. In between that time, Clarke had taken to training the young girl. It was slow progress, as Clarke was more used to taking on groups of people rather than one-on-one fighting.

Normal protective instincts aside, Clarke was especially protective of Madi when she found the black blood that fell from her veins. She learned of the conclave and the protection Madi's biological parents had tried to give her, and vowed that she would do the same. She found it ironic that her, Clarke - "Mountain Killer", "Army Slayer", The Commander of _Death_ \- would find the conclave too brutal. Clarke had no intention of ever letting Madi participate in that Gladiator match and the nine year old didn't want to be in it either.

Clarke would destroy the Earth with another bout of radiation before she let anyone take Madi without a fight.

Clarke waited until Madi settled on the branch next to her, just slightly higher than her own before speaking. "Get ready to train," she ordered. Her grin grew impossibly wide when Madi gaped at her in shock.

"But I just got up here!" Madi protested.

"Hmm," Clarke pondered, raising an eyebrow at Madi's half-pleading face.

"I'll even cook dinner," Madi hurriedly offered.

"Deal," Clarke said, well aware of her own inadequacies in the cooking department. "But you train an extra two hours."

"Deal!" Madi nearly squealed, though clamped her mouth shut and glanced at the mouth of the cave Clarke had been watching. "Has he come out yet?" She whispered, eyes not straying from their spot on the cave.

Clarke turned from her Second and once again eye the mouth of the cave. She had been hunting the survivor of the Azgeda army that she had slain for the last two days or so, ever since she left the Chief and Chieftess that morning. She got her wish, she guessed; Arkadia would have to wait until after the survivor was dead.

"No," Clarke murmured, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "He hasn't and it's been three hours since sunrise. He should've started moving by now."

"Maybe he knows Nia will kill him and is… h-hid-ding (hid-ding)?" Madi suggested.

"Hiding," Clarke corrected absently, "and maybe. But _Azgeda_ soldiers are incredibly loyal to Nia. Even if she's a fucking psychopath. If he did run, he wouldn't be accepted anywhere else; _Azgeda_ isn't exactly trusted by the other clans."

"He could still live with Nomads." Clarke looked sharply at the girl, knowing that Madi still had nightmares about her parents' deaths, before sliding her sword back into its sheath.

"Maybe," Clarke slowly replied. "For now, though, we wait."

There was silence.

"When are you going to _Skaikru_?" Madi asked quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest. Clarke closed her eyes but held in her sigh. She should have known this was going to happen. Madi was a smart kid, and Clarke should've known that Madi would figure out her next move when she told her that what she'd learned from the _Azgeda _army.

"As soon as this guy is taken care of," Clarke told her.

"You're leaving me again." Clarke looked at the girl, putting a hand on Madi's leg and squeezing to reassure the girl.

"I will always come back for you. Whether I'm in Heaven or Hell, I'll always come back," Clarke promised.

"Why can't I just go with you?" Madi asked. "I want to go with you!"

"It's too dangerous," Clarke defended. "We can't have anyone figuring out that you're a _Natblida_. You have to stay safe and train."

"Please?" Madi begged. "I promise I'll be good. I want to meet all the people you've told me about. _Belomi, Okteivia, Monti, Abbi. Klark, please, don't leave me in some village to wait everything out and -"_

"_Calm down," _Clarke soothed as she threw both legs off the side of the branch and squeezed Madi's legs. There was a moment of silence as Clarke looked into those pleading blue eyes and her resolve to keep Madi away from the action crumble away. "_Fine. But you do exactly what I say, when I say it. And absolutely no sparring."_ This brought a smile out of Madi, knowing that sparring should be called 'Bruise the Madi' for all intents and purposes.

"I better go see what he's up to then if you're going so we can get a move on. You are notoriously slow. Have I mentioned that?" Clarke gave Madi a wink before dropping off the branch and catching a lower one then dropping again to land safely on the ground. Madi smiled down at her and Clarke gave one back, turning to trudge to the cave.

Polis was an option, but also a horrible one. Sure, Polis had a thing about weapons, but there were several clans who wouldn't be too happy _Wanheda_ staying in the city and would use Madi against her. The other _Natblidas_ there are also something Clarke was wary about, seeing as the nine year old could possibly open up to one of the children and reveal her status as a Nightblood. Madi hadn't spent a lot of time around children her age and the thought left Clarke slightly guilty and apprehensive at Madi making bonds with the other Nightbloods. Clarke couldn't help but remember her own fault at relationships and trusting the wrong people.

Which brought her back to the biggest reason she absolutely, one hundred fucking percent she didn't want to go to Polis: _Heda._ Lexa was still something of a sore spot for Clarke, and a confusing one at that. She dreamt about the girl. Both nightmares and sweet dreams. Dreams where she and Lexa were back in the tent after their kiss, and Clarke never said no; dreams that had Lexa go a little bit further than just a simple kiss. And nightmares that left Clarke standing alone at Mount Weather, Lexa's voice spewing insults and remarks that echoed in her ears even after she woke up.

No, she didn't think she was ready to see Lexa. Especially after Lexa had released more than a few warrants for her arrest as _Heda_ of the Coalition. Clarke was technically the enemy of the Coalition, even if the only people actually looking for her were bounty hunters, _Azgeda,_ Blue Cliff, and Bright Forest - the clans she made enemies of as she's killed multiple people from there (not that she hasn't killed a lot of people from all of the clans, including _Trigedakru_).

Polis was a no-no. For right now, she just needed to get Arkadia prepared for a war and then have them take a message to Lexa so she can spear-head the plans and possibly take out any of the opposition. Nia wanted the Commander position, and she had two other clans helping her out. Maybe the Nomads as well, if some of the weapons that Ice Nation army were sporting.

Over the years, Clarke had learned that some weapons were indigenous to specific clans. The Nomads had a specific type of weapon: a long sword with a hook at the end and a jagged edge. There were several of those swords in the hands of _Azgeda_ warriors, possibly taken or Nia had done the unthinkable and inducted the Nomads into her clan. If Nia truly did take in the Nomads, she had an extra couple hundred blood thirsty, ravenous monsters at her disposal.

Though if Lexa could prove that Nia took them in to the other Ambassadors, the Commander could execute Nia and declare war on _Azgeda_ without a problem and use the other clans' armies to take them down. Clarke would've done it herself but innocent people could get hurt and Nia could take any attack in her clan's borders from Clarke as a _Skaikru_ act of war. The only way to keep Nia from declaring war would be for Clarke not to be seen fighting and captured in _Azgeda_ territory.

Ontari was close but it was all hearsay and any one who got a good look at Clarke was dead. With scared witnesses who didn't get a good look and without physical evidence of Clarke being there, Nia couldn't declare war on Arkadia and couldn't take it to Lexa so the other clans wouldn't get involved and take sides.

Clarke nodded to herself, assured in her reasoning not to go to Polis and focussed on the task at hand.

The entrance to the cave was silent and dark. Not a sound from the inside. Without hesitation, Clarke slipped a long knife from a pocket hidden in the right leg of her pants. The long knife was half the size of her arm and without a grip on the handle, the entire thing smooth and slim; perfect for hiding in thin places like that hidden pocket and the space between her boot soles.

Clarke went further into the cave, knife at the ready and making her footsteps as light as she could against the rocky ground. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness that consumed the cave, letting her see what exactly was going on with her silent target.

He was dead.

Blood splattered the cave and green eyes looked up at her with snarling teeth and a contently swishing tail. The black jungle cat laid halfway into her target, lazily chewing the meat it tore from the dead man's stomach. The body was near eviscerated and just starting to smell, though it didn't bother Clarke as much as it would've before she died and accepted _Wanheda's_ voice in her head. As for the sight… yeah, it was still disgusting but Clarke had done worse when trying to get information on other cells of Nomads or specific people from different clans.

It made Clarke realize she was practically the Old World's CIA.

"Easy, kitty," Clarke whispered, easing her stance a little to appear non-threatening and backing out very slowly. She had fought cats like these. Giant, black, and deadly creatures that ate men whole and consumed anything they could get their hands on. Their claws were sharp, their instincts better than most of the predators prowling through _Trikru_ territory, but _Trikru_ had hunted them nearly to extinction so says the village stories. They weren't pauna persay, but they did have some characteristics of the larger specimens.

But Clarke had taken down two of these cats before and they'd left her with bites and scratches that infected bad and scarred worse. Their jaws had the ability to unhinge like a snake to make a bite wider and more dangerous. She'd been on the other end of those jaws and hated it. Clarke wanted no part in fighting another one.

Unfortunately, it was too late. The cat had seen her and their kind were ravenous and greedy - a living gorger that ate and ate and ate and never had too much food. Near as Clarke could tell, their stomach acid was twenty percent more acidic than humans, causing their food to break down exponentially faster than any other mammal on the planet other than their own kind. Radiation had a different effect on them, apparently.

The cat got up and Clarke dropped to a crouch just as the cat leaped up over her head to the mouth of the cave. It was blocking her way out. It prowled back and forth, looking for an opening as Clarke brandished her knife threateningly. It could either attack her or Clarke could attack first.

She chose the latter.

Clarke tried to rush the cat, and it worked partially. The cat jumped out of the way in surprise and Clarke managed to knick its side with the tip of her knife. The bad news is that her momentum carried Clarke forward and she fell to the ground just outside of the cave. The sudden bright light of the sun blinded her for a second and she rolled immediately, just in time to have the cat pounce on the spot where she just was.

"_**Get up!"**_ The shout from _Wanheda_ had Clarke snarling and jabbing at the cat with her knife. The cat yowled as the knife embedded into the beast's shoulder and immediately turned which caused Clarke to lose her grip on the handle of her blade. Before she could roll away, the beast pounced again and clawed at Clarke's front, tearing through the flimsy shirt and her flesh in an attempt to kill her.

Red clouded Clarke's vision and pain erupted in her front but she didn't let it overtake her. With a deep breath, she hit the cat in the eye with her fist. And then did it again. And again. Her fist met bone and flesh from the area around its eye and the cat grew angry. It yowled loudly, before jumping up and crashing down.

Clarke's eyes widened and her arms moved on instinct, closing around the muzzle and jaw of the cat before it reached her face. Teeth dug into her fingers, slicing them open and spilling blood. Burning erupted in her veins, Clarke's pain all but gone as she was threatened with the jaws of the beast.

Madi was in the corner of her vision, yelling something that Clarke's thumping blood drowned out and trying to climb down as fast as a nine year old could. Madi… Clarke's blood pumped harder at the thought of her pseudo-daughter. This cat was going to kill her and then it was going to kill Madi. But Clarke made a promise, to both herself and Madi to always be there no matter what.

Burn the world to save her, that's what Clarke promised. And it started with this. God. Damn. Cat!

Clarke's grip turned painful as she squeezed harder and pulled out, widening the jaws of the beast impossibly wide. She felt like she was burning inside and her grip was crushing as it started to break the jaws.

"_**Rip and tear!"**_ _Wanheda_ screamed. Clarke let out a scream in response, using every bit of strength to pull until the cheeks of the animal started to tear. It let out another sound but it was different from the aggressive growls it had made when trying to kill her; it was a whine. The cat pushed on the ground around Clarke's head, trying to get away but the blonde wasn't about to let that happen and be a potential danger to Madi.

Nothing was _ever_ going to hurt Madi.

* * *

Madi was content to wait for the woman that became so much more than a mother to her. Laying in a tree with her feet up and eyes closed to the sun with light on her face, Madi was perfectly sure that Clarke could handle some straggler from that army she'd slain a couple days ago.

So she spent the next few minutes being excited about going to _Skaikru_. Clarke had told her a whole bunch of stories about the Hundred, her mother, and Arkadia, but Madi had to admit she was more excited to meet _Okteivia_ than anyone else. Clarke's stories were amazing, though she glossed over her own role in a lot of them. And even though she was over Mount Weather, she still had a hard time talking about how she killed everyone there.

Clarke hadn't even told her that part.

Madi had heard it from a nice villager; the 'Fall of the Mountain'. As the story went, Clarke and _Heda Leska_ made an alliance to take down the Mountain together and take back both their people from the Mountain Men. However, once they got to the Mountain with their army consisting of the entire Coalition, the _Mounon_ made a deal with _Heda_ to give the people they stole back if _Heda_ took her army and left the Sky People to them. As the leader of the clans, _Heda_ made the choice to take back her people without any casualties. Seeing as _Skaikru _wasn't part of the Coalition, the deal was made. _Heda Leska_ left Clarke standing alone at the base of the Mountain. The rest of the story was fuzzy, and mostly hearsay though the Sky Boy, _Monti,_ did tell what had happened to some of the curious Grounders.

Monty Green told of how Clarke tried to use Cage's father as a bargaining chip but ultimately had to shoot him. He told them how Clarke ordered him to reverse the fans to bring in the outside air that acted like poison and fire to the men who lived in the mountain. And he told them how Clarke did it with tears in her eyes for the innocent men, women, and children who had nothing to them.

Her adopted mother was a considered a hero.

Her adopted mother just rolled out of the cave with a pauna behind her.

Madi's heart leaped up to her throat as she watched the small scuffle between her mother and the cat-like pauna, known for its bottomless hunger and razor sharp claws. Her mother rolled before the pauna could pounce on her, jabbing one of her long knives into the beast's shoulder. The pauna moved, making Clarke lose her grip on the blade and pounced again, this time catching the blonde on the front. Immediately, Madi could see the blood as her own enhanced her senses and healing. A gift from _Saunska_, the Goddess of Life, if the clans' shared beliefs were true.

Clarke hit the beast with her fist once, twice, three times before the pauna yowled and tried to pounce again. Madi could only watch as her caregiver, friend, and mother took the animal's jaws in her hands to keep them away from her face and throat. That was when Madi sprung into action. Or tried to.

Madi was panicked and it didn't do her any good. She scrambled down the tree as fast as she could, tempted to just jump but knowing that she would probably break her ankle. Again. Madi called Clarke's name, desperate for the older woman to know that she was coming to help. She _could_ help.

She got as far as a few yards away when she stopped. Clarke still had the pauna's jaws in her hands but that was the only thing that was the same. Now, the pauna was clawing at the ground, desperate for escape, and Clarke was pulling the jaws wider than it had ever been before. Cheek muscles ripped apart and Madi couldn't help but be in awe while being terrified.

Clarke was glowing. Madi watched as golden veins spread up from Clarke's elbows until they reached the tips of her fingers and her blue eyes turn red. The blonde let out a yell, and pulled. The sound of tearing flesh was unlike anything Madi had ever heard and the sight made her eyes widen in awe.

They were right. It was all true. Clarke was _Wanheda_, the Commander of Death. The Spirit _Wanheda_, was the daughter of _Karechas_, the Goddess of Death, who was sent down to Earth to command the death _Karechas_ had unwittingly unleashed upon the world. One person would inhabit the spirit, taking on the characteristics that would be most prominently displayed in _Heda,_ the Commander of Men, and the daughter of _Saunska_, the Goddess of Life and sister of _Karechas_. Now, _Wanheda_ had chosen Clarke as her host.

In that moment as Clarke ripped the jaw off the pauna and used the bone to open its jugular, Madi couldn't help but think of an old prayer that the priest of her village used to say during his worship of _Wanheda_: 'May _Wanheda_ bathe the world in the blood of the guilty and give blood to the innocent.'

"Okay," Clarke breathed as she stood up to face Madi. Madi blinked, coming out of whatever reverie she had been stuck in. "I'm going to get changed first and then we can go."

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter done. 6534 words; I'd call that a very good chapter. A lot of background but then again, I'm still establishing a setting and making shit up as I go along. I will be getting different perspectives from everybody but this will mainly be a Clarke-centered POV.**

**Also, I've come up with a few different ideas for a couple '100' fanfics. I've tacked them below if you're interested in me writing a few of these.**

**Thank you for your support, as well. Two Chapters and thirteen days, and already thirteen reviews! You guys are awesome. Now, I'm going to be having an inconsistent schedule for the next week or more, so please don't scream 'UPDATE' at me until I do. There's a lot of work going into the next chapter with Polis and Lexa and Skaikru, so please don't make me feel like I have to rush. I start making mistakes and I don't want to do that.**

**Now onto those story ideas I was telling you about.**

**Selfish: After trying to decide who gets to live in the bunker, Clarke finds herself betrayed by everyone she'd ever loved. They called her a monster and a murderer. Locked her up like an animal. Until they decided to execute her by leaving her tied to the top of Arkadia to enjoy Praimfaya. But now… now, she was back. Standing in her cell on the Ark. She had a chance to do it all over again with one thing to say: Fuck 'em. It was time for her to do what she wanted. Clexa**

**Took Too Long [Working Title]: Clarke was high off of Earth. Even if she was hungry and worried about the 100 delinquents the Ark had sent down to the ground, it was the **_**ground.**_ **She was there! And they were taking too damn long! "Move, Finn," she ordered. "You're taking too damn long." She grabs the vine away from him, and jumps without preamble. It was amazing. The wind rushed through her hair and she landed on the ground. She grinned, aware of how amazing just that sentence sounded. She turned and threw her hands up in the air, cheering. They cheered too. Until a whistling broke through their cheering and suddenly Clarke was pinned to a tree, screams ringing in her ears as her vision went black. OR: Clarke goes first to cross the river and ultimately becomes Anya's Second. Clexa**

**Solitaire: Clarke was twelve when her father found the flaw in the system. Clarke was twelve when they floated him. Clarke was twelve when she took her first life, trying to stop them from killing her dad. Clarke was twelve when she was locked up in solitary and they threw away the key. Known as The Solitaire to the other inmates because of her time spent in solitary and her aggression, Clarke is sent down with the 100 to the ground. Life on the ground isn't going to be easy, especially not for Clarke. Clexa.**

**Huh, That's New [Working Title]: It was all about genetics when they sent people into space to survive the war apocalypse. Genetics to keep people alive and keep people safe. Such was the law on the Ark. Sociopaths were a taboo on the Ark, as they developed into serial killers more often than not in the Old World. Jake Griffin knew his daughter was different. So he protected her. Shielded her and hid her true nature. Told her to fake it, that human emotion she didn't feel. When Jake dies and Clarke is dropped to the ground, self preservation is all that's on her mind. At least until Clarke meets the Grounder Leader who can actually make her feel **_**something**_**. Clexa.**

**All done. Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading**

**-Scribble.**


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

* * *

_Clarke's Woods_

_Three Miles from the Dropship._

* * *

It was nights like these that Madi wondered who she should pray to; the Spirits, the goddess of life, or the goddess of death. These nights when she and Clarke camped under the clear, starry sky in front of a small campfire with Madi resting her back against Clarke's front, and the blonde's fingers running through the younger girl's unbranded hair as Clarke whispered stories; quiet enough to never disturb the peaceful silence around them.

These nights when no creature - nothing from the lowliest cricket to the most vicious pauna - dared disturb the two. These nights when not even the trees dared to breathe and the wind didn't dare rustle a single blade of grass. As if the very world and the Spirits themselves didn't wish to draw Clarke's ire and held themselves still at _Wanheda's_ command.

Which was a very real possibility given that the woods around Mt. Weather - these woods - were Clarke's. An undisputed fact despite the grievance and uneasiness it caused some of the clans on the Coalition. _Wanheda _had won Mt. Weather by right of conquest, and as such could do whatever she wished with the lands. Both the mountain and the area around it belonged to Clarke and the Coalition couldn't lay any claim to it as they didn't fight against the Mountain Men. The Spirits that had died in or around the mountain most likely answered to Clarke as well as the very earth. Like _Heda_, Clarke exuded a presence, one that sent hardened warriors who had seen the bloodiest kinds of battles and hardened their hearts to their knees.

They'd walked for a couple hours after Clarke had washed herself off with water from her canteen and put on a new pair of clothes. Despite the scare from the pauna earlier, Clarke had acted as though everything was normal. She had carried her duffel, which Madi felt weighed a thousand pounds, wiped a rag over her wounds, started walking, and hadn't complained once. Though the image of burning gold veins stayed in Madi's mind.

But the scare that Madi had experienced - and the subsequent awe of Clarke that had followed shortly after - and Clarke's injuries had tired them both out earlier than usual. They'd made camp as the sun went down and Clarke had pulled Madi into her embrace, calmly getting rid of the ties that kept Madi's hair in braids. At that moment as the sun disappeared off the horizon, everything in the woods had silenced without a whisper of a storm from the wind.

They'd sat there then; Clarke's fingers brushing out her hair, the feeling almost enough to lull Madi into sleep. The action familiar and safe, or as close as Madi could get to the feeling on the Ground.

"You okay, kid?" Clarke whispered in Madi's ear, her breath curling around the little girl's cheek.

Madi thought about it a moment, taking a mental stock of the fear buried deep in her gut but the safety that warmed her bones with the fire light before she nodded.

"Could you tell me another story?" Her question came out as a whisper, unwilling to break this rare serenity that surrounded them.

"Sleep right after?" Clarke questioned patiently with a raised eyebrow.

"Promise," Madi affirmed. "Sleep right after."

"What story do you want?" Clarke whispered. Her fingers still ran through Madi's unbraided hair, though they only slowed a small amount so Madi could still concentrate on something besides the feeling that caused her eyes to close.

Not that Clarke's voice wouldn't do that soon enough.

"Praimfaya?" The suggestion was quiet though the hope in her voice was loud enough to make the young Grounder girl wince. It wasn't becoming of a warrior of any age to sound like a child; nevermind the Second to _Wanheda_. But the story came to life in Madi's mind when it graced Clarke's lips. And despite the story being the birth of _Karechas_, _Saunska_, and the other Spirits - something Clarke had never believed in and became annoyed at the very mention - Clarke would still tell her the story no matter how many times Madi asked. One of these days, Clarke wouldn't give in and Madi would be left storyless. Until those days came however, Madi would take whatever she could get whenever she could.

So it came with great relief that Clarke began to tell her story in _Trigedasleng_, her soft voice almost echoing in the large woods while wrapping Madi up in warmth different from the campfire. Madi ended up closing her eyes before the first word could be uttered, Clarke's words building a world that had long since passed.

"_A long, long time ago,"_ Clarke began, "_there was a single god. He built the stars, the skies, and the world. He created the animals and the trees and the clouds and Angels. Despite the Angels, though, he was lonely. So he made a man named Adam, and when Adam became lonely, God made a woman named Eve. God then gave them the whole world with only one rule: don't eat this one piece of fruit; for it is forbidden._

"_But Lucifer, an Angel and God's Second, became jealous of Adam and Eve._ How could God make these humans and favor them more? _he would ask himself. So he came up with a plan to stop God from loving Man. He tricked Adam and Eve into eating the forbidden fruit, and introduced Sin into their lives. As punishment for disobeying him, God allowed Death to happen and evicted them from their paradise."_

Here, Clarke took a breath, no doubt preparing herself for the rest of the story. Madi knew that Clarke didn't believe in the God of the Old World or the ones that now ruled the Ground. Even the instances of near-death and should-be's couldn't sway Clarke's belief that they were alone and there weren't any deities watching them. Clarke had once told her that the Old World God had a billion followers who couldn't agree on the many versions of his story and killed each other for it. Madi couldn't imagine it; there were much better reasons to kill each other these days.

Besides, everyone agreed with the story of the Sister Gods.

_"Thousands upon thousands of years pass by in a heartbeat in God's eyes,"_ Clarke continued. _"Unlike when they were first created, Mankind wasn't kind anymore. They were mean and wicked, living and thriving in the sin that had been introduced to man so many years ago._

_"Mankind lied, and cheated, and killed." _Here Clarke's eyes hardened, even though her voice remained soft. _"They betrayed each other and those who tried to do the right thing - the honest thing - were left out in the cold to whither and die._

_"Wars - ones that reached across the entire world - had been waged over him and the resources of the world. Greed, prejudice, and pride ran rampant among the world; lust and gluttony, and deceit were behind every motive. Hatred replaced love, and war kept peace at bay."_

Clarke took another breath; Madi could hear Clarke's heart beating steadily in her chest. The wind blew a slight, cool breeze against their warm skin making Madi's eyes flutter open at the sensation. The fire light casting deep shadows into the woods. Madi could almost see the world Clarke described; the one wrought with monsters and so unlike the one they lived in, especially under _Heda Leska's_ rule.

_"And then, two hundred years ago, a new war started to brew. One that would consume the entire world." _Clarke's breath curled around Madi's ear and the shadows flickered against the bArk of trees, painting the dismal world Clarke whispered in her ear. _"For years, God had held out hope that his creations would stop. That they would turn their back on the sin that they had been introduced to._

_"But God despaired; he'd bled and sacrificed for them yet Man was still unmoved." _Madi imagined a faceless God up in the sky with hunched shoulders looking down on a world filled with corruption, sorrow filled eyes desperate for at least a small semblance of hope but finding none.

_"As God watched Mankind begin to escalate into war, he knew that he had failed. But he also knew the future. He knew that there would be survivors after the humans' war though he knew not what form it would take. God was tired and desperate for a solution._

_"So he looked for someone to look over the world in his place. He would find this person and rest in peace, knowing that the remainder of his favorite creation would be looked after."_

Madi watched the flames and shadows work together to create the world Clarke described. The one bustling with people and noise of the Old World.

_"God found two women who he found had the greatest intentions for the world. They were sisters; their names were lost to time. Regal and just, God knew they could lead the world into a better future." _Here Clarke's voice tinted with more doubt than it previously held. It was a familiar, relaxing thing - Clarke's doubtful tilt. A constant in a world of uncertainty.

_"God split his powers into two and bestowed Life to one sister and Death to the other, letting his existence fade into oblivion. The sisters were reborn as gods and given new names. The sister given power over life became _Saunska _and the sister given the power of death was reborn as _Karechas._" _The name ran over Clarke's tongue in a particular distasteful tilt that Madi had only heard when Clarke spoke of two others: _Azgeda_ and the Nomads.

_"The two sisters were born from their own bodies, shedding their human selves like snakes shed their skin. _Saunska _was born in the skies, her rebirth bringing forth an explosion of light that covered half the earth. Her power purified the very air, cleaning the blue skies and beyond of the filth mankind had left there. _Karechas_, however, was born on the Ground. Her rebirth, despite her sister's, was not as peaceful._

_"Her birth brought forth _Praimfaya." Madi sucked in a breath, amazed despite hearing this story so many times. _"Flames scorched the sky, blocking _Saunska _from her sister and unable to help Mankind. _Karechas' _birth reached across the world, her power causing the water to catch fire and turn the trees to dust. Her power caught and blended with Man's bombs, creating an endless chain of destruction that touched the Earth end to end. _Saunska _could only watch from above as her sister brought the destruction God had feared to his last creation."_

Madi's vision clouded over as the story came to life under Clarke's whispered voice. Madi imagined what it was like as the air became fire and the clouds disappeared under orange skies. Imagined the dirt dry out into dust and the trees blown into splinters by the legendary concussive force of the Old World's bombs.

"Karechas's _birth became known as _Praimfaya_, the End of Things,"_ Clarke continued. _"But it was not the end. Horrified by what her birth caused, _Karechas _asked her sister to help save the humans. Most humanity was dead by the radiation, the world was filled with smoke and ash, but _Saunska _found a way._

_"As the story goes, the goddess of life took a star and the remains of her human body, and proceeded to mold the two together, giving back life to the shell."_ Clarke clenched her teeth together at this point. _"The Star Being became _Saunska's _daughter, who she named _Heda Becca_, the Commander of Men."_

Madi's eyes widened as she realized Clarke was telling the whole story. She had done it once or twice but the blonde had hated the story. Not for what was already said but what for was about to be. This wasn't just the story of Praimfaya, but the legend of how the other Spirits were born. Not only _Heda_, _Saunskas' _daughter, but also _Karechas'_ \- the revered _Wanheda._ And Madi knew how much Clarke disliked being called the host of the legendary spirit. She had accepted the name over the course of the years but she still refused the religious aspects that came with the name.

She used the name, of course. All of the clans were deathly terrified of _Wanheda_ and those clans that _Wanheda_ were a part of over the years took great pride in that fact.

_Wanheda_ was a title given to the strongest of warriors. They were the Old World's 'Rambo' - a literal one person army from what Madi had heard from the oldest generations in Shallow Valley. But over the course of the Clans' History there have only been a few who held the title to be _Wanheda_ herself. _Heda's _Spirit went from Commander to Commander, each leader chosen in the Conclave from a multitude of potential hosts known as Nightbloods. _Wanheda_, however, had only had several hosts over the years. How the hosts were chosen by _Karechas'_ daughter was unknown, the only tell being the hosts' unnatural strength and the gold veins that burned beneath their skin.

"Heda Becca _led the last vestiges of man away from the verge of death,"_ Clarke continued. The older blonde's voice had become a soft, calming tilt that caused the excitement in Madi to drain out of her and lay her head onto Clarke's shoulder. Her eyes closed of their own volition, taking deep breaths as Clarke continued on. "_The Commander of Men lived up to her name, leading mankind into an Age of Rebirth. _Heda Becca _told the remnants of mankind of her mother and why she was sent, imploring them to be better than they once were to stop anything like _Praimfaya _from happening ever again. And though the years passed with relative peace, _Heda Becca's _body was beginning to fail her. Even if her body was made out of the stars, it was human and prone to death just like everything else her mother helped keep alive._

"_But _Becca _also knew that her spirit would live on, unable to interact with the mortal world. So she devised a plan, one that would let her keep leading mankind forevermore. Asking _Saunska _for a gift, her mother granted her eleven piles of stardust. _Saunska _then did as her daughter asked and spread the piles of stardust into the blood of eleven special individuals. Like _Becca_, their blood turned black, marking them as a _Natblida_, one of the chosen hosts of _Heda. _But _Heda _could only have the strongest of the _Natblidas _as her host, so she created the Conclave."_

Clarke paused there, Madi eagerly waiting for the continuation of the story Madi rarely got to hear. The crackle of the fire stopped though the young brunette could still feel the heat emanating from it. The woods had gotten even more quiet, a silent breeze blowing gently against her face.

"_While _Heda _was helping mankind survive, _Karechas _became the embodiment of death. Unrestrained and untempered, _Karechas' _powers over death caused pockets of ground to dry out and plants to die. Death was carried by the wind, bringing sickness, boils, and disease to animals and man alike,"_ Clarke continued quietly. "Saunska _saw how her sister's unrestrained power affected the world, and pleaded with _Karechas _to do something. So _Karechas _did. If _Saunska _wanted to have a Commander of Men, then _Karechas _would have the Commander of Death._

"Wanheda _was born from the ashes of the Old World and the blood of thousands of men, and given free reign over Death to direct however she pleased. _Wanheda _took her mother's words to heart, She did as she wished, leading death to where she wanted and keeping her mother's power restricted and less sporadic. Men stopped dying at random, buildings stopped decaying, and life on Earth began to flourish. _Wanheda _eventually found hosts, men and women whose scent was covered with death."_

Clarke's breathing evened out next to Madi's ear. The young girl's eyes fluttered open, taking in the older blonde's relaxed face. Her eyes were closed, but that didn't stop her from talking. Madi, unable to help herself, snuggled closer to Clarke's heat and curled into the blonde's embrace as Clarke's strong arms wrapped around the nine year old.

"_To this day,"_ Clarke whispered, "_the two Spirits _Heda _and _Wanheda _still walk the earth, carrying out the will of the Sister Goddesses until the next _Praimfaya_."_

Madi was asleep by the last word, gold veins in her mind and a warmth deep in her chest.

* * *

Arcadia was quiet an hour after sun up, at least from what the Commander of Death could hear a quarter of a mile away. Clarke had her duffel slung over her shoulder, her pistol in its holster on her hip, her two swords set in their sheathes on her back, and her white and blue masks were once again on full display on her hip. Madi was beside her, carrying her own training sword on her back and, at Madi's insistence, their shared rucksack on her left shoulder.

Clarke scoffed at Madi's stubborn insistence that she carry their rucksack. Clarke wasn't _that_ hurt. Yes, it still stung but Clarke barely felt it after last night. The bleeding was gone, the stitches she put in would stay there for a while but that wasn't a surprise. '_Speaking of,'_ Clarke thought as she remembered the incident the day before.

Blood splatter came across her mind as she remembered the pauna. How the beast was crying as Clarke tore the animal apart with her bare hands. Clarke had pulled off some amazing feats before (not dying from a sword through her stomach being one) but she had never displayed the insane amount of strength she had used with the pauna. It took her a little while to come up with a realistic answer the day before but it made sense: Clarke experienced a sudden boost in adrenaline when her maternal instinct took over. Clarke had already thought of Madi as her own and Clarke had read about the amazing strength mothers had used when their children were in danger so it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. Not like -

"_Klark?"_ Madi's voice stirred her from her thoughts, bringing her attention back to the present and causing her to turn to her young companion. Madi's breathing was even and deep. Clarke had to say that the nine year old's stamina nothing to laugh at, especially when Clarke only started training Madi eight months ago. It wasn't a rush job so Clarke took her time molding Madi and training her in weapons and stealth. Exercise was used sparingly as to not damage Madi's young body, Clarke deciding to help with Madi's stamina instead of strength while Madi still developed.

_"What's up, Madi,"_ Clarke asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

_"Are you okay?"_ Madi asked. Clarke blinked at the question, not expecting the young girl to be worrying about her. Giving a hum and turning around to continue walking, Clarke thought about it.

Was she okay? Maybe. Arkadia wasn't a place she thought she was ever going to walk towards ever again. Possibly catch up to her, yes, but actively go back? Never. Along with the apprehension welling up in the pit of her stomach, there was also a cascade of butterflies filling up the empty space. She was beyond nervous at the thought of seeing everyone again. It wasn't how she thought they would reunite - long nights and whispering winds making her imagination take over; her friends crossing her path and giving her giant bear hugs that nearly crushed the life out of her - but she didn't really expect any of them to find each other again. She'd left and stayed away for a reason, after all.

_"I think so," _Clarke lied. Turning her head to look at the girl now at her side, she said, _"I never thought I would be coming back here but… There's not much of a choice. I have to be okay."_

_"Are you excited about seeing the Hundred again?" _Madi asked.

Clarke could only sigh and readjust her duffel. "_A little,"_ Clarke replied, shaking her head. "_More… nervous than anything. I know Belomi was sad that I left, but he's probably angry now. The others probably are too."_ Clarke gave a sudden groan as a thought occurred to her.

"_Klark? What's wrong?"_ Madi was suddenly closer, her eyes darting to Clarke's still healing wounds.

"_I'm fine, Madi,"_ Clarke told her. "_Though my mom is going to ground me for life."_

Madi's giggle lit up Clarke's morning, numbing the sting of her wounds. Trust the nine year old to help her get over her nerves. At least until Arkadia came into view.

And what a view it was. Arkadia had grown from that makeshift camp two years ago. A wall ten feet high, made out of a collage of metal cut through the foliage to surround the small town that Arkadia had now become only to meet at two towers a few extra feet taller than the rest of the wall. The gate was a window of chain link fence surrounded by two slabs of metal, though it was open to the world. Clarke frowned as she saw what was inside, wondering if Arkadia was on such good terms with _Trikru_ that they would leave the gates open. She hadn't heard anything like that, but then again, she hadn't paid attention to anything Arkadia.

Wood buildings now scattered around the giant metal structure that used to be part of the Arkand there a certain amount of energy around the entire settlement as people went to and fro buildings. Arkadia seemed to have been divided into ringed sections, though it was hard to tell from Clarke's position. It was only from Clarke's experience at infiltrating clan strongholds (_Azgeda_, for instance) that she could recognise any of Arkadia's dynamics from where she was.

Metal tower and inner ring, probably filled with extra metal and resources and about the size of a _Trigedakru_ town mess hall based on Clarke's estimates. The outside ring was filled with wooden buildings and people going in and out of them. Seemed like days in Arkadia started early. Clarke raised an eyebrow, secretly impressed. Back on the Ark, everyone who didn't have to be up early for their government enforced job was left to sleep in. Mechanics, farmers, and guards were some of the only jobs that allowed a flexible schedule with decent hours. Now, on the Ground, it seemed like everyone was up doing jobs the moment the sun came up.

"_**Good,"**_ _Wanheda's_ voice whispered in Clarke's head. It nearly startled her, it being the first time it talked since the morning before. "_**That work ethic will help them in the coming war."**_

'_Let's just get this over with,'_ Clarke couldn't help but reply. Making a decision in her head, Clarke turned to Madi. _"Keep English to a minimum, Madi,"_ Clarke said in Shenandoah, the language of Shallow Valley. _"Leave the talking to me. I'm not sure what to expect, so let's just be cautious."_

Maid's nodded, a serious look on her face. She readjusted their rucksack on her shoulder and put a hand on the handle of her sword for a few seconds to make sure it was safely secure. Clarke took a page out of Madi's book and checked herself. Her pistol safe under her left arm, switched her duffel bag from her right hand to her left, and readjusted the straps of her sword sheaths. Her knives were safely tucked onto the back of her pants and both of her combat boots. _Hodnes Jus _and _Az Tombom_ were safely tucked in, and her thin knives were hidden in her pant legs. Clarke rolled her left shoulder, feeling the sharp pain there, the top of her breast on her right side, and indents of her fingers where the cat pauna's teeth cut into them.

She would be fine.

Clarke took a breath, steeled her nerves, and started walking with Madi at her side. Her stomach was full of butterflies, even if it didn't make any sense to her. She'd faced armies, entire towns, Ontari - why was she more nervous about seeing her friends that she was then? Could they really be called friends if she hadn't seen them in two years? And her mother? The last time Clarke had seen Abby, she had just saved her mother from Cage and Mt. Weather by killing a little over five hundred people. What had she said? 'There are no good guys'? It was a phrase Clarke had taken to heart, becoming something the Clarke of two years ago would have never recognized. Would Abby?

Clarke and Madi passed by the gates of Arkadia without incident. Clarke noticed a few people she vaguely remembered from her life on the Ark but everyone passed by without a glance to her, too busy with their jobs and chores to give a two visitors the time of day. Arkadia was a hub of life and one of the first things Clarke noticed was that not everyone was from the Ark. At least a quarter of the people Clarke saw were Grounders, with their tanned skin and the dark tattoos painted on their skin. It made Clarke bring her own hand up to her neck to the etsy tattooed on her neck, feeling the different textures the ink had to her skin compared to the think scar on her neck.

Though Clarke knew it was irrational, she felt as if the ink was burning on her back and felt the titles branded on her skin. Each title - name, really - felt like a milestone of her life. An end and a beginning, hopes and dreams unrealized until it was too late to make them reality. '_Wanheda'_ was the only one that was different. The only one that described what she was the moment she had it inked to her skin. The only one whose time hadn't passed. The only way for her not to be _Wanheda_ was for the name to pass on, and then she'd add her new name to her repertoire.

Shaking her head and putting her attention back to the real world, Clarke also noticed the way other people were dressed compared to her. They were almost… conservative, compared to her at least. Though Summer felt right around the corner, the chill of Spring still hadn't left, causing the people of Arkadia to hesitate in shedding their fur and leather. Long sleeves, fur jackets and boots, and leather hoods made up most of everyone's attire, barely a hint of skin being shown. Clarke, herself, was drastically different from Arkadia's population. She had changed out from her bloody clothes before she and Madi had left their makeshift camp that morning. Now she wore a Mt. Weather standard wife beater, black, and a pair of black jeans she'd found in one of Mt. Weather's girls' living quarters along with a pair of knee length combat boots. She'd left her jacket in her duffel and her bloodied clothes and shoes were washed and currently drying in a plastic bag in Madi and hers' rucksack. Granted, her clothes weren't great to blend in with but who ever said she was blending in? Clarke only blended in when she infiltrated and wanted the element of surprise (not that it lasted), so there was no point in dressing in complete Grounder while walking through the front door and not looking for someone to assassinate.

Madi had taken to the Arkadians' style, showing as little skin as possible to keep the wind's chill out though Clarke could proudly say that Madi had taken some style from Clarke as well. The brunette was wearing a cotton long sleeve shirt with some faded words of a famous band from long ago underneath a leather jacket with small silver studs on the shoulders that used to be decorative until Clarke got her hands on it. Madi wore a pair of ripped blue jeans and black combat boots. Clarke couldn't help but think she looked a little like her when she was that age. Madi's hair and face structure were different, sure, but the young girl's sky blue eyes were nearly a match for Clarke's own - a small but significant fact that tricked Clarke's motherly instincts into waking even without the biological alarm Clarke would have gotten if she'd ever had a child of her own.

To be honest, Madi looked a little like Lex -

Never feeling as grateful for an interruption as she ever had at that moment, Clarke turned to apologize to the man she bumped into only for her entire body to freeze. Standing there, inches from her, was Lincoln. His face was bruised and he had several cuts all along his face, including a split lip, that almost made him unrecognizable, but Clarke would never be able to forget him. He was the first Grounder she'd met, the first to take her side and see the Hundred as something other than enemies. Clarke had put a bullet through him for Christ's sake! Though him wearing a guard uniform made her take a second to scan him over and see if it was really him. Gun on his hip, uniform messy and faded but there, and not a sword to be seen. Yet clearly, undeniably Lincoln in all his tall person glory.

God, she'd forgotten how tall he was.

"Lincoln," Clarke found herself saying. Clarke watched as his eyes widened in recognition, and watched with amusement as he gave her a once over. More taking her in than checking her out, but it made her amused all the same. Clarke hadn't slept with a lot of people, but it was something she'd indulged in on occasion. Sex was incredibly good after a bloodbath, not that Clarke knew why. She just felt… insatiable afterwards. And it wasn't hard to notice how good looking Lincoln was.

Not that Clarke would ever entertain the thought of being with Lincoln. She had no doubt that Octavia and Lincoln were still head over heels in love with each other even after two years. The married Chief and Chieftess from a week ago were a special case, one Clarke was happy to stumble upon. She doubted Octavia and Lincoln ran that way.

"Clarke," Lincoln said in a stunned voice. "You're here? You're back?"

Clarke nodded. "For now, yeah," Clarke said. "I don't know for how long but -"

The blonde was cut off by the sudden bear hug that Lincoln had pulled her into. His arms wrapped around her neck and brought her face to his shoulder. For a second, Clarke just stood in his embrace, unsure what to make of it. Yeah, she'd fantasized about this kind of reunion with her friends, but she'd never expected it. Hell, she didn't expect a reunion at all, ever. But nevertheless, Clarke found herself wrapping her arms tight around Lincoln's midsection. He smelled of woods but Clarke figured that was her too. Tears pricked her eyes but didn't dare overflow. The only hugs she'd been given were either from Madi or one of her sexual partners. And while Madi's hugs were something special that caused a squeezing in her chest and her partners' were nothing but comfort only meant to last less than a night, there was something about Lincoln's hug that just reached into Clarke. A long forgotten part of her that took comfort in people not named 'Madi' or an orgasm.

The bear hug lasted for around a minute before Lincoln separated and held her at arms' length. His chocolate colored eyes were warm and the he had a slight smile on his face when Clarke caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly remembering Madi, Clarke's smile widened as she stepped out of Lincoln's reach and grabbed Madi's shoulder. Clarke looked down at the young girl who had her own features as stoic as she could make them though Clarke could see the nervousness in her eyes.

She'd told Madi stories of the Hundred. Of the Ark and how they had come down, a hundred child prisoners suddenly given freedom to do whatever they wanted in the absence of an overbearing government in a land they knew nothing about. Clarke had told Madi of their time at the dropship. Of their interactions with the Grounder General Anya and the battles they fought. Of Rebel Leader Bellomy, the Fierce Octavia, the Brothers Jasper and Monty, the Snake Murphy, and the many things that happened in the two months before Clarke left the people of Arkadia. Clarke had drawn pictures of her friends to show Madi what they looked like when they dropped down. Some, like Octavia, had needed another picture to show how they changed after they lived on the ground. Clarke had even done one of herself, showing Madi how she looked the day she came to the Ground - or what she remembered from a glance at her reflection in that river. Madi had loved it, especially stories of Octavia. If it wasn't for Madi and her close relationship, Clarke would be afraid she'd lose Madi to the _Skairipa_, even if they'd never met. Though Clarke could only blame herself for Madi's worship of Octavia, given that she'd downplayed her own part in the stories and made Octavia practically a god.

"_Linkon, this is Madi. You could call her my Second." _Clarke introduced, tucking the brunette into her side and wrapping her right arm around Madi's shoulder. Madi lost control of her stoic mask then, a small smile spreading across her lips as she met Lincoln's eyes. Clarke saw Lincoln's eyes widen in surprise again once Clarke started speaking in _Trigedasleng_. "_Madi, I would like you to meet Linkon, a man who I owe my life."_

"_I owe you mine as well, Klark,"_ Lincoln argued. "_More than anyone else. You've saved me more times than I can count."_

Clarke shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "_You're my people,"_ was her answer. The phrase came to her lips unbidden, only to find it true. Even after two years and not a single bit of contact with the people of Arkadia couldn't stop her from thinking of them as _her_ people. Sure, she'd inadvertently saved Arkadia a few times by taking on other clans but that was mainly satisfying a few anger management issues against _Azgeda_ and Nia. Clarke still had a bone to pick with the _Az Kwin_ because of Ontari.

The phrase seemed to have a different effect on Lincoln as his smile only grew wider. "_I'm glad to hear it. And I'm glad you're okay. We had heard stories, of course, about the Wanheda the Army Slayer. But seeing you in person is better than I can ever say._ Everyone will be relieved to see you."

Clarke gave him a strained smile that came out as a grimace. She doubted that immensely but she didn't want to burst his bubble. She had no doubt that relief would be in the back of their minds, clouded over by the anger that would have no doubt been simmering over the last two years about how she left without a word to anyone but Bellamy. Clarke proceeded to tell him so in _Trigedasleng_.

"_Octavia's probably the angriest though I would guess Jasper's a close second,"_ Clarke guessed, watching Lincoln's face with her 'tell me the truth' stare. Something Lincoln only had to see once before he became her friend. Beside her, Clarke didn't have to look at Madi to know that the girl's eyes start to shine.

Lincoln nodded, sighing. "_Octavia's been… Well she didn't take the banish well. And on top of you leaving without saying goodbye… She's bitter. Angry, sure, but hurt most of all. Jasper…"_ Here he paused, and Clarke knew it wasn't going to be good. "_It took him a while to get himself together. He drank a lot after Mia's death. Jasper was angry at the world, the Grounders, you. But after you left and _Heda _helped Arkadia as reparations, he just lost it, that anger. He still drinks sometimes, when it gets too much for him, but he stopped being angry at you a while ago. At least after he understood the guilt you were feeling."_

"_The hell does that mean?"_ Clarke asked, worried, but Linoln only shook his head.

"_It's not my place to tell you,"_ Lincoln told her. He seemed sincere. "_It's just something you should here from Jasper himself, when you talk to him."_ He gave her a calculating look. "_You _are _staying, right? For longer than a couple of days?"_

Clarke took a breath, looking over at Madi who was still underneath her arm. Deep blue eyes met her own sky blue and Clarke felt herself give the girl a small smile before she turned back to Lincoln. "_Yeah,"_ she breathed, stretching the word out, "_I think I can spare a week or two."_

'_Or at least until I give Mom the news about Azgeda,'_ Clarke thought, trying not to grimace at how that conversation would play out. '_I doubt she'd just let me leave to take care of it though. And if Arkadia's relationship with Trikru is as advertised, I can expect Lexa will be involved. There's no getting away if I meet her again. She's just too… Lexa.'_

"_So,"_ Clarke said with a grin, ridding herself of her internal thoughts, "_think you have time to spare to be a tour guide for two girls new in town?"_

Lincoln shared her grin and gave a low chuckle, shaking his head as he did so. Madi broke her mask as she became excited at the prospect. "_Could you?" _Madi asked with the energy only a nine year old could muster. "_That would be so cool! You and _Okteivia _are my favorites from _Klark's _stories."_

"_Really?"_ Lincoln turned to Clarke with a raised eyebrow before going back to Madi with a smile on his face. "_And what sort of stories does she tell about us?"_

Lincoln began walking, causing Clarke and Madi to follow him as the two Grounders talked. Arkadia was pretty in the morning. There were dozens of people rushing around them at any given moment, each doing their jobs or just laughing and hanging out with friends. Clarke found herself smiling as she looked at Lincoln and Madi, a warm feeling sitting behind her chest appeared when Madi ooh'd and ah'd at the structures Lincoln pointed out as he explained what they did. Clarke had even joined in at one point as Lincoln showed them their blacksmith and explained that this blacksmith was the first in the entire Coalition to make glass. It brought Arkadia tons of trade, apparently, something Clarke had known but never paid any attention to.

Clarke didn't see any immediately familiar faces but enough to confidently say she knew them on the Ark. They didn't recognise her either. The people of Arkadia only paid enough attention to them to sate their curiosity about the Blonde and the Kid. Even their odd clothes, still in a good condition despite Clarke's 'extracurricular activities', were looked over because they were being shown around by a guard. Arkadians that passed by Lincoln gave the Grounder a head nod and a smile as they went, and Lincoln gave a few in return. The tanned man was obviously well respected within Arkadia.

They'd almost travelled the full outer ring when Clarke came across something interesting. A crowd of people stood in circle cheering. They weren't rowdy about it but there was a primal sort of energy to it. The people in the crowd were a mix of Arkadians and Grounders, though all of them were either carrying weapons or wearing guard uniforms. They talked to each other, nodding and commenting on whatever was going on. And that's when Clarke noticed everyone was looking down.

"_Lincoln,"_ Clarke called, stopping the man in his tracks and whatever conversation he was having with Madi. He looked over at her but she still hadn't stopped staring at the crowd. Clarke heard him sigh, before taking a few steps closer to her.

"Octavia," Lincoln started, "well, she defended Arkadia. She challenged anyone from the twelve clans to one on one death matches if they wanted to harm Arkadia. During the first few weeks, Clarke, Octavia fought and won over three dozen matches, some ending with her barely able to stand. After the first few months and the other clans found Octavia still standing, they backed off. But Octavia loved Trigeda culture, and fighting is a large part of that. She and Kane convinced Abby to keep the fights open, for moral support. They built a pit to have matches in. Anyone can enter. Octavia fights some of the time but she mostly just referees now. It's only when she's teaching a lesson or someone challenges her that she fights anymore."

Clarke noticed that Lincoln touched his split lip when he was talking. "Did she do that to you?" She asked, motioning towards his lip and watched him nod.

"Octavia got angry, thinking that I turned my back on my culture," Lincoln replied. "I haven't… but it's been a daunting task to stay here and not visit TonDC. I just… I miss TonDC but sometimes it's just too painful to look at what made me a Grounder when I can't be one anymore. O is still holding out hope that Indra or _Heda_ will end the banishment. Yet Indra hasn't been to Arkadia ever, even being so close to Arkadia and living in TonDC."

"I'm sorry," Clarke whispered to him, feeling Madi come up beside her and still playing the part of a girl who only spoke _Trigedasleng._ "Can I…" Clarke motioned to the pit. Lincoln shrugged with a small smile.

"It's not like I can stop the mighty _Wanheda_, now can I?" He joked. Clarke only gave him a smirk before throwing her arm around Madi's shoulders and making her way over to the crowd.

The crowd was thin enough that she and Madi could get to the edge of the pit without displacing anyone, Lincoln moving by her other side a second later. Clarke looked around at the faces around the pit, noticing they were all enjoying themselves watching the two opponents duke it out with fists. Turning her attention to the fighters, Clarke noticed the bigger one first. He was large like almost all fighters from the ground were, had tattoos inked across his skin in designs Clarke wasn't sure of the meaning of, and was only wearing a pair of pants. The other fighter was none other than Octavia. She had her hair braided like she did when she was Indra's Second, scars along her arms, and wore what looked to be a sports bra with shorts cut off at the knee. She, too, wasn't wearing shoes.

Octavia's form was incredible, Clarke noted. Then again, what did Clarke know besides dirty fighting. She had never been formally trained and when she did fight, it was the dirtiest ways to win and kill her opponent. Granted, Clarke did seem to have an aptitude for picking up moves on the spot. Especially after her fight with Ontari. It wasn't all just swordplay; the younger girl had a wide arsenal of moves that Clarke had used and taught Madi later on.

The _Skairipa_ in the pit was a trained warrior, currently taking on a man at least a foot taller than her and with arms the diameter of her head. Winning, too, Clarke observed with a smirk. Right hook, left jab, kidney shot, left stomp, headbutt. Octavia's opponent tried to block but Octavia only systematically took him down. The Sky People Legend dodged a while haymaker meant for her head before raising her right arm to block the sudden gut punch her opponent sent after her. Clarke watched the sweat on Octavia's forehead fall as the brunette used her blocking arm to force the man's own arm away from his chest, which Octavia took full advantage of as she stepped into his personal space and kneed him hard in the sternum. The air driven from his lungs, Octavia used the chance to grab his arm, twist, and then force him into a flip that made him a motionless heap on the dirt floor.

The crowd cheered and clapped, Madi doing the same beside her. Clarke had to say that Octavia had the right idea. Morale was high because of the pit. Allowed a lot of people to get their frustrations out of their system and work better afterwards without any grudges. Lincoln was sporting a small smile and Clarke ended up clapping at a normal pace, Madi's excitement contagious. Octavia was smiling wide at the crowd, her arms raised above her head as she twirled to look at the crowd.

And then Octavia's eyes met hers.

Clarke could only watch as whatever high Octavia had been on seconds before disappeared and could hear the girl whisper against the crowd's cheers.

"Clarke."

* * *

**I'm so fucking sorry for being gone so long. Things have been hectic here.**

**My great grandfather is dying and I guarantee that he's going to croak in the worst way possible (I'm not that close to him but I still have to deal with the family drama).**

**I joined the army and leave for basic a week and a half after I post this.**

**Work has been giving me the worst hours to get the most out of me before I leave.**

**And packing has been Hell itself.**

**Not to mention the dozen fandoms I've managed to become a part of in these last few months. So I'm sorry. My other stories haven't been put on hold and I still have plans to at least release a Prologue or first chapter before things get hectic. Don't hold me to it, please, just don't. I hope you like this chapter and leave a review. Clarke vs Octavia, Reunion with Abby, and Lexa in Polis are all coming in the next chapter. Thanks for reading.**

**-Scribble**


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